I'm learning to speak French! This doesn't technically count as a New Year's resolution as I've been working on it in fits and starts for the last few months. I had a few years in High school followed by a couple of remedial college courses. And now, more than a decade later, I can tell you that haricot verts are indeed safe to order as a side dish (that'sgreen beans in case you were wondering).
Why the sudden interest in becoming bi-lingual? Well, why not? It's good for your head -- I read somewhere that people who speak more than one language are a lot less likely to develop Alzheimer's (Ignore the fact that I can't remember exactly where I read that or how much less likely their risk was. Google it yourself, haters!). And maybe it will be good for my heart, too. French is the language of love, is it not?
So that's my latest undertaking. I did what I always do when I come up with a new project -- I went out and bought a book. Several books, in fact -- one of which has mostly curse words and slang. I figure when I'm feeling iffy on my French vocabulary, I'll throw in one of those words or phrases and immediately shift my audience from thinking, "Is she an idiot?" to "Ooh, she's just too cool to care." Well, that's the plan at least.
I'd appreciate any tips from anyone else who's tried this self-education stuff. Oh, how I wish I'd paid more attention to poor Ms. Lloyd when I had the chance back in High School French class. Instead I just made fun of her misguided affection for stirrup pants. If I could write a letter to me then...I'd probably forget to mention French or anything else besides, "Enjoy that flat stomach, b!@#$*! It won't last long!!"
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
My One Resolution for the New Year
William Lyon Phelps wrote, "The final test of a gentleman is his respect for those who can be of no possible service to him." I found this quote in roundabout fashion by reading the latest post on "Tiny Kingdom." You can click the link on the right and follow her link to read the whole thing. My goal for the year is to measure up to this definition of a gentle(person).
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas!
We're in a bit of a lull this morning. The babies are napping and Jack is playing Hungry Hippos -- the no-rules-frantically-grab-for-marbles version. So I thought I'd take a moment to say Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all of you taking the time to visit this blog. Thanks for an awesome year. Your comments, both in person and in print, have meant so much to me.
I know it's customary to say, "Hope Santa brought you just what you wanted." And honestly, I don't wish anyone a vacuum cleaner or an electric skillet (unless you're so inclined). But I do have one wish for your New Year. I hope at some point you receive something you didn't expect...something you might even have refused if the choice had been yours. But once this unasked for thing enters your life, I hope you are surprised to find it's better than anything you could have plotted for, planned for, saved for, wished for...just better than anything you could have expected. And I hope that unexpected joy makes you just a little more inclined to relax...to go with the flow...to not get bent out of shape when the road you're traveling suddenly takes a sharp detour into unfamiliar territory. Because you just might wind up someplace wonderful.
Wishing you love in abundance, happiness overflowing and peace tempered with just enough chaos to make you appreciate it. -- J.
I know it's customary to say, "Hope Santa brought you just what you wanted." And honestly, I don't wish anyone a vacuum cleaner or an electric skillet (unless you're so inclined). But I do have one wish for your New Year. I hope at some point you receive something you didn't expect...something you might even have refused if the choice had been yours. But once this unasked for thing enters your life, I hope you are surprised to find it's better than anything you could have plotted for, planned for, saved for, wished for...just better than anything you could have expected. And I hope that unexpected joy makes you just a little more inclined to relax...to go with the flow...to not get bent out of shape when the road you're traveling suddenly takes a sharp detour into unfamiliar territory. Because you just might wind up someplace wonderful.
Wishing you love in abundance, happiness overflowing and peace tempered with just enough chaos to make you appreciate it. -- J.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
They've Got What You Need
As a former drug rep, I can't resist the occasional stab at Big Pharma. Call it biting the hand that fed me, if you will. Don't wait for it to load completely, just press play. Thanks to Sociological Images for yet another winner.
Best Thing I've Seen Today...
...Tommy, with both index fingers pointing skyward, bouncing up and down saying, "Dan' Dan' Dan'." It only got better when the rest of his brothers decided to follow suit, and we all danced together for a brief, beautiful moment; and then it was gone. Short of installing video cameras to tape 24/7, blogging about it is the only way I know to keep something so great from disappearing into the jumble of first words, vaccination dates, and grocery lists that makes up the back of my mind. I hope it makes you laugh when you think of it, too.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Warming My Geeky Heart
O.k. -- I think I've mentioned I'm a former Show Choir geek (jazz hands everybody). That's why I had to post this. A big thanks to Staci for forwarding this one on. I believe this is Indiana University's College Choir.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
I would have blogged but...
a whole bunch of life attacked me at once. Bits of it are screaming right now, in fact. I hope you'll check back next week as I have high hopes for a brief moment of sanity sometime between Monday and Friday.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Tom at Large
Photos of Tom are very much like photographs of Big Foot, fuzzy and too far away. Until I get better at action shots, Tommy leaves me slim pickings for posting. But I do try for a fair and balanced blog so no one can claim to be mom's favorite at a later date. Even though I may have failed to capture it on film, this guy is a sweetheart through and through.
Future Host of Blues Clues?
!@#$% Paparazzi!
Tommy or Sasquatch?
Tommy almost being still for a millisecond
Future Host of Blues Clues?
!@#$% Paparazzi! 
Tommy or Sasquatch? 
Tommy almost being still for a millisecond
Sam Outdoors
Sam discovers nature's icky side... 
...And generously shares it with Will 
Sam being beautiful
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
Upon closer examination of the Christmas card photo (see below), I was struck by how very much my boys needed another haircut. They've already had their "First Professional Haircut" with bits of fuzz saved in an envelope for posterity. But I think three wiggling, screeching, crying boys descending on one unsuspecting hairdresser was a bit much for the poor woman to handle. They all left looking pretty much the same as when they went in. Maybe a little shorter, but not necessarily ready for their GQ cover shoot.
They say the definition of insanity is to do the same thing expecting an different result. With that in mind, I decided that I would give Sam and Will haircuts myself this time. Going to a pro didn't work out that well for us. Why shell out cash if Will's just going to wind up looking like Moe from the Three Stooges anyway? How hard could it be?
The whole process began in the bathtub where I relieved Will of the majority of his mullet. Unfortunately, the scissors I found in the bathroom cabinet were a bit too dull for haircutting. They kind of folded into his hair rather than cutting it. And since speed is of the essence with any task involving Will, I decided to cease and desist for the moment.
Once everyone was dressed and had fairly dry hair, I decided to try again with a pair of much sharper scissors. I tackled Sam first this time, since he really only needed his bangs trimmed. After a quick clip across his brow, it began to dawn on me that simply having witnessed a haircut might not actually qualify me as a hairdresser. Sam had taken on a certain Frankenstein-esque look. Very square across the brow, dropping abruptly past the ears to a much longer back. No wonder there are so many mullets in the world. I had just given my son one without even trying!
I remembered that most of the time the hairdressers pick up the hair in sections, lift it away from the head and do a tiny snip to layer the ends a bit and make them look less boxy. So I gave this a try a few times. But he just wouldn't stop MOVING! Or trying to help with the scissors, which almost resulted in the loss of a fingertip and part of an ear. Luckily, no blood was shed, and I decided as long as I brushed his bangs a little to the side, he looked just fine.
I moved on to Will, but without as much enthusiasm as before. This time, Tessa held him in her lap while I trimmed his bangs. He sat as still as a statue, completely mesmerized by the hair falling across his nose and cheeks. He remained frozen until I finished the front and over the ears. Then he had to turn around and face Tessa, so I could try and fix the back -- slightly mangled by the dull scissors from before. I tried to even it up quickly. But instead of looking down at his lap, which would have been immensely helpful, Will kept bending backward to smile at me upside down. Granted, it was really cute, but not at all conducive to a decent haircut. I tried to do the lifting up sections and snipping them thing, but with so much bending and twisting, the result was iffy at best.
Finally, I stepped back, determined that he looked better than when we started, and decided to leave well enough alone. Fortunately for Tommy, he doesn't have any hair to trim, and Jack has so much hair that I'm completely afraid to touch it, so both those fellows were left out of this particular endeavor.
All in all, I don't regret the experience. I think they still look cute, and I managed to avoid a chaotic trip to the hair salon. Although, I'm not sure I'll be able to do it again, just because I'm already so far out of my comfort zone. Next time, I may leave their hair in the hands of professionals. Until then, cross your fingers that the mullet makes a comeback, because I seem to have a knack.
They say the definition of insanity is to do the same thing expecting an different result. With that in mind, I decided that I would give Sam and Will haircuts myself this time. Going to a pro didn't work out that well for us. Why shell out cash if Will's just going to wind up looking like Moe from the Three Stooges anyway? How hard could it be?
The whole process began in the bathtub where I relieved Will of the majority of his mullet. Unfortunately, the scissors I found in the bathroom cabinet were a bit too dull for haircutting. They kind of folded into his hair rather than cutting it. And since speed is of the essence with any task involving Will, I decided to cease and desist for the moment.
Once everyone was dressed and had fairly dry hair, I decided to try again with a pair of much sharper scissors. I tackled Sam first this time, since he really only needed his bangs trimmed. After a quick clip across his brow, it began to dawn on me that simply having witnessed a haircut might not actually qualify me as a hairdresser. Sam had taken on a certain Frankenstein-esque look. Very square across the brow, dropping abruptly past the ears to a much longer back. No wonder there are so many mullets in the world. I had just given my son one without even trying!
I remembered that most of the time the hairdressers pick up the hair in sections, lift it away from the head and do a tiny snip to layer the ends a bit and make them look less boxy. So I gave this a try a few times. But he just wouldn't stop MOVING! Or trying to help with the scissors, which almost resulted in the loss of a fingertip and part of an ear. Luckily, no blood was shed, and I decided as long as I brushed his bangs a little to the side, he looked just fine.
I moved on to Will, but without as much enthusiasm as before. This time, Tessa held him in her lap while I trimmed his bangs. He sat as still as a statue, completely mesmerized by the hair falling across his nose and cheeks. He remained frozen until I finished the front and over the ears. Then he had to turn around and face Tessa, so I could try and fix the back -- slightly mangled by the dull scissors from before. I tried to even it up quickly. But instead of looking down at his lap, which would have been immensely helpful, Will kept bending backward to smile at me upside down. Granted, it was really cute, but not at all conducive to a decent haircut. I tried to do the lifting up sections and snipping them thing, but with so much bending and twisting, the result was iffy at best.
Finally, I stepped back, determined that he looked better than when we started, and decided to leave well enough alone. Fortunately for Tommy, he doesn't have any hair to trim, and Jack has so much hair that I'm completely afraid to touch it, so both those fellows were left out of this particular endeavor.
All in all, I don't regret the experience. I think they still look cute, and I managed to avoid a chaotic trip to the hair salon. Although, I'm not sure I'll be able to do it again, just because I'm already so far out of my comfort zone. Next time, I may leave their hair in the hands of professionals. Until then, cross your fingers that the mullet makes a comeback, because I seem to have a knack.
Friday, December 07, 2007
This One's for the Christmas Card!
O.k. Guys! Let's all look at Mommy! 
That was good, but let's all try smiling this time!
Seriously, Tommy, there's a good chance your face is going to stick like that.
O.k. Guys...we're just looking for one decent picture here.
Good enough. Merry Christmas, everybody!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Counting My Blessings
I am thankful...
...that it's really hard to mess up sweet potato casserole and macaroni and cheese (my two responsibilities for family dinner).
...for leftover turkey and mayonnaise sandwiches on white bread (please let there be leftovers this year!).
...for stretchy pants and tunic shirts (maybe just one more bite).
...for a little boy who is making up a song about fish while he plays in the bathtub. "Keep the water in the tub, please!"
...for his now sleeping brothers who have spent the day climbing things then falling off them, playing Peep-Eye by covering their ears, and blowing slobbery kisses my way.
...for my husband who says he loves me by getting up to make milk sippy cups at two in the morning even on week days (cutting jaw teeth is fun for the whole family).
...for our family, our friends and neighbors.
...for all the things great and small that make each day an adventure.
May God bless you with health and happiness this holiday season. Thanks for reading.
...that it's really hard to mess up sweet potato casserole and macaroni and cheese (my two responsibilities for family dinner).
...for leftover turkey and mayonnaise sandwiches on white bread (please let there be leftovers this year!).
...for stretchy pants and tunic shirts (maybe just one more bite).
...for a little boy who is making up a song about fish while he plays in the bathtub. "Keep the water in the tub, please!"
...for his now sleeping brothers who have spent the day climbing things then falling off them, playing Peep-Eye by covering their ears, and blowing slobbery kisses my way.
...for my husband who says he loves me by getting up to make milk sippy cups at two in the morning even on week days (cutting jaw teeth is fun for the whole family).
...for our family, our friends and neighbors.
...for all the things great and small that make each day an adventure.
May God bless you with health and happiness this holiday season. Thanks for reading.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Good for a Giggle
For those of you who should be working, but are instead surfing the internet in search of entertainment -- Look no further!!! O.k., I wish I were talking about me, but click this link instead for Overheard Lines. I made it all the way back through three months of posts before I forced myself to stop reading and proceed with my day. Now I'm sidetracking you! No need to thank me. Ooh, and once you've wasted a ton of time there, check out Ask A Ninja. Bet you don't know what a Minja is. Click the link and prepare for a whole pile of knowledge to be dropped on you.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
On Furnishing a Boy's Room
I realize that some people actually visit this blog to find tips on raising a boy...or in my case, raising many boys at once. So today I thought I'd offer some advice on room furnishings.
First, and most essential, is the baby bed. For your first child, I advise spending days on end visiting various high-end furniture dealers searching for the safest, most esthetically pleasing baby bed that exists in the world. Ask your dealer to find out if the entire bed is made of quality hardwood. Check all joinings and fittings. Make sure you can lower the side with one hand -- easily, and quietly so as not to disturb your precious bundle as he sleeps. Find the perfect bed that matches all the criteria you have found through internet research and the 15 baby books you purchased the day you found out you were pregnant. Discover it costs more than your first car. Justify the expense because it converts to a toddler, then twin bed. This bed will last Junior through college! It is, in fact, a bargain. And it comes with the world's hardest crib mattress...the one most recommended by experts for the prevention of SIDS -- primarily because it is so uncomfortable, your child will never actually sleep on it. Purchase coordinating changing table and dresser, as well as matching rocker by refinancing your house.
Next, comes crib linens, window treatments and a rug. Agonize over color choices and fabric textures. Convince yourself that your child's sleep/wake cycle depends on making the correct choice in bumper pads and matching valance. Spend an exorbitant sum on fabric and a sewing machine so you can "feather your nest" yourself. Spend even more money on fabric and labor when you give up and hand the job over to a professional. Choose a rug with a design that speaks to your heart. And look! Coordinating wall prints are available!!
Agonize over your registry. Solid sheets or prints? Wipe warmer or decorative wipe cover? Ooh and aah over every gift, but secretly resent anyone who buys you anything not on your registry. You've spent months researching the safest, most educationally sound items, for heaven's sake!
Purchase a beautiful, wicker toy basket yourself. Artfully arrange baby's new stuffed animals -- as well as some of your most treasured toys from childhood -- within the basket. It's the final touch that gives your child's room a certain je-ne-sais-quoi.
Finally, it's time to bring junior home from the hospital. Bring him lovingly into the cozy sanctuary you've made. All the time, effort and expense was worth it just for this perfect moment. Savor it. Take a picture.
Over the next year, Junior will:
1) Refuse to sleep on the rock you call a mattress. (Before the year is out you will have added a double thick mattress pad, countless toys and *gasp!* maybe even a pillow...all in the vain hope that your beloved will for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy SLEEP already!!!)
2) Use the bumper pads as a step ladder to climb out of his bed forcing their removal and subsequent exile to the garage.
3) Chew the length of the bed rail until it looks like an old #2 pencil.
4) Come down with stomach flu in the middle of the night and completely defile that beautiful rug (if only you'd known red Gatorade contained a permanent dye).
5) Compel you, through countless disgusting acts that I won't detail here, to place a container of wipes in each and every room of your house -- decorative covers be damned.
6) Escape during a diaper change, pull up to his lovely wicker toy box, and proceed to relieve himself all over its contents -- including that toy monkey you've treasured for as long as you can remember.
When furnishing a room for a 2nd, 3rd or 4th child, my advice is simple. Whatever you can't beg, borrow or steal, you then purchase on clearance at various discount houses -- my favorites are Babies R Us, Wal-Mart and Target. Matching is optional and generally accidental.
Good luck and best wishes!
First, and most essential, is the baby bed. For your first child, I advise spending days on end visiting various high-end furniture dealers searching for the safest, most esthetically pleasing baby bed that exists in the world. Ask your dealer to find out if the entire bed is made of quality hardwood. Check all joinings and fittings. Make sure you can lower the side with one hand -- easily, and quietly so as not to disturb your precious bundle as he sleeps. Find the perfect bed that matches all the criteria you have found through internet research and the 15 baby books you purchased the day you found out you were pregnant. Discover it costs more than your first car. Justify the expense because it converts to a toddler, then twin bed. This bed will last Junior through college! It is, in fact, a bargain. And it comes with the world's hardest crib mattress...the one most recommended by experts for the prevention of SIDS -- primarily because it is so uncomfortable, your child will never actually sleep on it. Purchase coordinating changing table and dresser, as well as matching rocker by refinancing your house.
Next, comes crib linens, window treatments and a rug. Agonize over color choices and fabric textures. Convince yourself that your child's sleep/wake cycle depends on making the correct choice in bumper pads and matching valance. Spend an exorbitant sum on fabric and a sewing machine so you can "feather your nest" yourself. Spend even more money on fabric and labor when you give up and hand the job over to a professional. Choose a rug with a design that speaks to your heart. And look! Coordinating wall prints are available!!
Agonize over your registry. Solid sheets or prints? Wipe warmer or decorative wipe cover? Ooh and aah over every gift, but secretly resent anyone who buys you anything not on your registry. You've spent months researching the safest, most educationally sound items, for heaven's sake!
Purchase a beautiful, wicker toy basket yourself. Artfully arrange baby's new stuffed animals -- as well as some of your most treasured toys from childhood -- within the basket. It's the final touch that gives your child's room a certain je-ne-sais-quoi.
Finally, it's time to bring junior home from the hospital. Bring him lovingly into the cozy sanctuary you've made. All the time, effort and expense was worth it just for this perfect moment. Savor it. Take a picture.
Over the next year, Junior will:
1) Refuse to sleep on the rock you call a mattress. (Before the year is out you will have added a double thick mattress pad, countless toys and *gasp!* maybe even a pillow...all in the vain hope that your beloved will for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy SLEEP already!!!)
2) Use the bumper pads as a step ladder to climb out of his bed forcing their removal and subsequent exile to the garage.
3) Chew the length of the bed rail until it looks like an old #2 pencil.
4) Come down with stomach flu in the middle of the night and completely defile that beautiful rug (if only you'd known red Gatorade contained a permanent dye).
5) Compel you, through countless disgusting acts that I won't detail here, to place a container of wipes in each and every room of your house -- decorative covers be damned.
6) Escape during a diaper change, pull up to his lovely wicker toy box, and proceed to relieve himself all over its contents -- including that toy monkey you've treasured for as long as you can remember.
When furnishing a room for a 2nd, 3rd or 4th child, my advice is simple. Whatever you can't beg, borrow or steal, you then purchase on clearance at various discount houses -- my favorites are Babies R Us, Wal-Mart and Target. Matching is optional and generally accidental.
Good luck and best wishes!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Banana Fanna Fo Fesus
"'And the Grinch realized that Christmas wasn't about the presents after all. It was about something special that happens in our hearts at Christmas time.' The End." Realizing a good segue to discuss the true meaning of Christmas, I turned to my first-born and asked, "Jack, do you know what happens to your heart at Christmas?"
I was met with a puzzled stare, so I adjusted my tack on the fly, "Jack do you know where Jesus lives?"
Jack perked up. I could tell he was ready to knock this one out of the park. "Up in da sky and in my heart (pressing his hand to the general vicinity of his heart)." God bless those Baptists. What they can do in only three mornings a week is amazing. "An' Jesus lives in your heart?"
"Yes," I said, smugly patting myself on the back for not raising a heathen despite not being far from one myself. "He's in my heart."
"An' he's in daddy's heart upstairs?" Jack asked. "I think he up in da kitchen but I can't see him."
"Wherever he is," I replied, "I'm sure Jesus is with him, too,." Silently, I added ..."unless he's watching Cinemax, then I hope Jesus is otherwise occupied."
"Where your heart?" queried Jack.
"Right here," I said, pointing to my chest, "and there's your heart." I pointed in the general vicinity of Jack's left side.
Horrified, Jack exploded, "Jesus is in my belly?!?"
"Well...no," I sputtered. "Not exac...."
"I not wanna eat Jesus!!" Jack shouted.
"No you don't eat Je...," I broke off as another thought hit me. Surely I don't have to try to explain communion, too!
Jack continued his diatribe, "Cause dat would be yucky to eat Jesus!"
Realizing I had no exit strategy, I reached for the only weapon in my dwindling arsenal. "Let's sing!" I chirped loudly. "How about the name song? Jack, Jack, Bo Back, Banana Fanna...."
Someone up there took pity on me as we sang through every name I knew, and there was no return to the topic of eating our Lord and Savior. Maybe it's better that I leave religion up to the Baptists at Mother's Day Out. Should they accidentally stumble onto the topic of cannibalism, I bet they know how to get out gracefully.
I was met with a puzzled stare, so I adjusted my tack on the fly, "Jack do you know where Jesus lives?"
Jack perked up. I could tell he was ready to knock this one out of the park. "Up in da sky and in my heart (pressing his hand to the general vicinity of his heart)." God bless those Baptists. What they can do in only three mornings a week is amazing. "An' Jesus lives in your heart?"
"Yes," I said, smugly patting myself on the back for not raising a heathen despite not being far from one myself. "He's in my heart."
"An' he's in daddy's heart upstairs?" Jack asked. "I think he up in da kitchen but I can't see him."
"Wherever he is," I replied, "I'm sure Jesus is with him, too,." Silently, I added ..."unless he's watching Cinemax, then I hope Jesus is otherwise occupied."
"Where your heart?" queried Jack.
"Right here," I said, pointing to my chest, "and there's your heart." I pointed in the general vicinity of Jack's left side.
Horrified, Jack exploded, "Jesus is in my belly?!?"
"Well...no," I sputtered. "Not exac...."
"I not wanna eat Jesus!!" Jack shouted.
"No you don't eat Je...," I broke off as another thought hit me. Surely I don't have to try to explain communion, too!
Jack continued his diatribe, "Cause dat would be yucky to eat Jesus!"
Realizing I had no exit strategy, I reached for the only weapon in my dwindling arsenal. "Let's sing!" I chirped loudly. "How about the name song? Jack, Jack, Bo Back, Banana Fanna...."
Someone up there took pity on me as we sang through every name I knew, and there was no return to the topic of eating our Lord and Savior. Maybe it's better that I leave religion up to the Baptists at Mother's Day Out. Should they accidentally stumble onto the topic of cannibalism, I bet they know how to get out gracefully.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
If Only the Girl Scouts Will Agree
I've been victimized once again. My good friend, B., has a sweetheart of a daughter in Girl Scouts. And I've just come to accept that in the spring, I will be eating 2 to three boxes of thin mints -- whether I meant to or not. I just can't resist their crunchy minty goodness. I've tried freezing them to make them last longer. But, sadly, they taste even better that way, and something about the temperature makes it much easier to eat the entire box at a sitting. Go figure. But that's o.k. I've come to terms with it and can live with myself afterward. But here's the kicker. They've started selling stuff in the fall, too. Not cookies...so don't get too excited. But chocolate-y, horribly-bad-for-you temptations nonetheless.
I think this is unfair to those of us with little or no self-control. But I also realize that the Girl Scouts need income year-round; so, here's my plan. The Girl Scouts need to start selling insurance...protection if you will. I give the Girl Scout of my choice $10 each quarter and she guarantees that she will NOT be bringing any candy, cookies, nuts, popcorn or any other diet-busting paraphernalia into my home during that time. Genius, is it not? I don't get any fatter, the girl scouts make out like bandits -- everybody's happy, right?
Sure, sure. There are those unpleasant mob comparisons. But seriously, they already run in gangs (they call them troops). They all wear the same colors. Don't they even have special hand signs? I can't be the first person to think they should just take the next logical step. Who's with me?
I think this is unfair to those of us with little or no self-control. But I also realize that the Girl Scouts need income year-round; so, here's my plan. The Girl Scouts need to start selling insurance...protection if you will. I give the Girl Scout of my choice $10 each quarter and she guarantees that she will NOT be bringing any candy, cookies, nuts, popcorn or any other diet-busting paraphernalia into my home during that time. Genius, is it not? I don't get any fatter, the girl scouts make out like bandits -- everybody's happy, right?
Sure, sure. There are those unpleasant mob comparisons. But seriously, they already run in gangs (they call them troops). They all wear the same colors. Don't they even have special hand signs? I can't be the first person to think they should just take the next logical step. Who's with me?
Thursday, November 01, 2007
A Special Shout Out to Anne and Harry
Here's a pic of everyone in their Halloween socks! Jack wore his to the church Fall Festival on Sunday, so they didn't make it into the official documentation. He was especially impressed that his had a pirate Jack-o-Lantern on them. Thanks for always thinking of us! We love you guys!
Writer's Block
8:00 p.m. -- Play Doh put away. Pedialyte in sippy cup. Chicken Little movie off. Jack is ready to start bedtime.
8:01 -- Refuses to brush teeth or use potty. Initally refuses jammies, but I win that won. We settle in to "read" Curious George Rides a Bike. Reading consists of an endless series of questions about all or part of the pictures on a page.
Q: Who's that?
A: That's the paper boy.
Q: What the paper boy doin'?
A: He's giving George the papers to deliver.
Q: What George doin'?
A: He's delivering the papers like a good little monkey.
Q: What that boy doin'?
A: He's running to take the paper from George.
Q: What he do with it?
A: He's going to take it back to his Mommy.
Q: What that man doin'?
A: He's picking up his paper off the stoop.
Q: He not fall down?
A: He's being very careful not to.
...Ad Infinitum.
Some interminable time later...George is done. Lights are out. Music is on. Fish lamp is on. Thomas vaporizer is on. Jack is lying down. Things are looking good.
Jack: You not leave yet.
Me: I have to. I'm very tired and want to go to sleep (o.k. blog, but I don't believe in full disclosure).
Jack: You tell me a song.
Me: We already sang Froggy Went a Courtin', Rock-a-bye Baby and Jingle Jack.
Jack: You sing the soccer player song.
Me: I don't know the soccer player song.
Jack: You say, 'Soccer Player, soccer player, soccer player.'
Me: Soccer player, soccer player, soccer player, soccer player, soccer player.
Jack: Faster.
Me: Soccerplayersoccerplayersoccerplayersoccerplayersoccerplayersoccerplayer
Jack: Again.
Me: Go to sleep.
9:15 p.m. After 5 trips up and down the stairs because 1) "I DO want to bwush my teef!" 2) "My bwanket! I need my bwanket on!!" 3) "I just pwayin' wif deez cars!" 4) "My bwanket!" 5) "My music went off!"
And you wonder why I don't write more often?!?!
8:01 -- Refuses to brush teeth or use potty. Initally refuses jammies, but I win that won. We settle in to "read" Curious George Rides a Bike. Reading consists of an endless series of questions about all or part of the pictures on a page.
Q: Who's that?
A: That's the paper boy.
Q: What the paper boy doin'?
A: He's giving George the papers to deliver.
Q: What George doin'?
A: He's delivering the papers like a good little monkey.
Q: What that boy doin'?
A: He's running to take the paper from George.
Q: What he do with it?
A: He's going to take it back to his Mommy.
Q: What that man doin'?
A: He's picking up his paper off the stoop.
Q: He not fall down?
A: He's being very careful not to.
...Ad Infinitum.
Some interminable time later...George is done. Lights are out. Music is on. Fish lamp is on. Thomas vaporizer is on. Jack is lying down. Things are looking good.
Jack: You not leave yet.
Me: I have to. I'm very tired and want to go to sleep (o.k. blog, but I don't believe in full disclosure).
Jack: You tell me a song.
Me: We already sang Froggy Went a Courtin', Rock-a-bye Baby and Jingle Jack.
Jack: You sing the soccer player song.
Me: I don't know the soccer player song.
Jack: You say, 'Soccer Player, soccer player, soccer player.'
Me: Soccer player, soccer player, soccer player, soccer player, soccer player.
Jack: Faster.
Me: Soccerplayersoccerplayersoccerplayersoccerplayersoccerplayersoccerplayer
Jack: Again.
Me: Go to sleep.
9:15 p.m. After 5 trips up and down the stairs because 1) "I DO want to bwush my teef!" 2) "My bwanket! I need my bwanket on!!" 3) "I just pwayin' wif deez cars!" 4) "My bwanket!" 5) "My music went off!"
And you wonder why I don't write more often?!?!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses A Leg
Luckily most everyone had a few to spare as all my boys were decked out in a spider-iffic theme. Hope you enjoy the pics.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Oh! The Places You'll Go!
I don't know about you, but I read a lot of Dr. Seuss. I find Green Eggs and Ham mildly irritating. Daisy Head Maisy is just odd. And I'd pay good money to never read There's a Wocket In My Pocket ever again. However, I really do like Oh! The Places You'll Go. In American Bandstand parlance, "It's got a good beat and you can dance to it." There are ups and there are downs -- and not just one down so you can read it and forget it, but a whole other downbeat section just to say, "No really... sometimes things will seriously suck, but you'll get over it."
I'd never even heard of this book until I had children. Blame it on my slipshod public school education. But it becomes more relevant with each passing day. Case in point...Dr. Seuss' waiting area -- where people are just waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for their ship to come in, for a second chance, etc. Today, I too am waiting. Waiting for the antibiotics to kick in, and the fevers to go down, and the vomiting to stop and the happy, smiley faces to return. All three trips have ear infections now, and Tommy has a respiratory infection to boot. They all just feel like laying around without even the energy to be cranky. Tom did stage a silent protest this morning. He woke up first, but the other two were still enjoying some much needed slumber, so I ignored his initial requests for an audience. When I finally gave in, I found him without his pajama pants or a diaper waving his privates around willy nilly (o.k. I snorted a little bit when I wrote that one...I need to get out more). Apparently, he was done with waiting for a clean diaper.
It's tough when everyone is sick like this. It's certainly a perfect set-up for cabin fever. But thankfully these down times are not the norm. As much as I try to stress what a good time there is to be had with four little boys under three, most people just look at me strangely and nod disbelievingly. And I'll admit, had a fortune-teller told me, "Marry this sweet guy and you'll wind up with more kids than you can shake a stick at" I might have run in the opposite direction as fast as I could go. However, now that this is my life, there's nothing in the world I'd take in trade.
Oh! The places you'll go!
I'd never even heard of this book until I had children. Blame it on my slipshod public school education. But it becomes more relevant with each passing day. Case in point...Dr. Seuss' waiting area -- where people are just waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for their ship to come in, for a second chance, etc. Today, I too am waiting. Waiting for the antibiotics to kick in, and the fevers to go down, and the vomiting to stop and the happy, smiley faces to return. All three trips have ear infections now, and Tommy has a respiratory infection to boot. They all just feel like laying around without even the energy to be cranky. Tom did stage a silent protest this morning. He woke up first, but the other two were still enjoying some much needed slumber, so I ignored his initial requests for an audience. When I finally gave in, I found him without his pajama pants or a diaper waving his privates around willy nilly (o.k. I snorted a little bit when I wrote that one...I need to get out more). Apparently, he was done with waiting for a clean diaper.
It's tough when everyone is sick like this. It's certainly a perfect set-up for cabin fever. But thankfully these down times are not the norm. As much as I try to stress what a good time there is to be had with four little boys under three, most people just look at me strangely and nod disbelievingly. And I'll admit, had a fortune-teller told me, "Marry this sweet guy and you'll wind up with more kids than you can shake a stick at" I might have run in the opposite direction as fast as I could go. However, now that this is my life, there's nothing in the world I'd take in trade.
Oh! The places you'll go!
'Tis the Season
Hunting season, that is. Jack found his daddy's clothes and decided to play dress up. I can't decide if he looks more like a hunter or some strange redneck/gangsta rapper hybrid. Whatever the look, I don't think this will be the shot we include on his application to Harvard.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Apathy thy name is Jodi
I'm just too tired to be funny. I have 2 very sick kids, and 2 mildly sick ones. All of which adds up to, zero will to write funny things. In the interim, have a look at this funny post from some person I've never heard of but thought you might enjoy. I take no responsibility for the rest of his site as I only read the one post, but it's good for a giggle when you're trying to avoid your TPN Reports at work.
Straight Man
Straight Man
Monday, October 22, 2007
Bunco Beach Trip 2007
Memorable Quotes:
"I don't do vegetables, but I'll do any meat you like." (said in reference to pizza, but stretched to include many more amusing topics)
"There's a party in my head, but I can't seem to find your name on the list. Look, I have Winged Unicorns, Fluffy Kittens, Pink Elephants...nope, I just don't see it."
And the unofficial theme of the weekend..."I didn't come here to catch up on my reading."
"I don't do vegetables, but I'll do any meat you like." (said in reference to pizza, but stretched to include many more amusing topics)
"There's a party in my head, but I can't seem to find your name on the list. Look, I have Winged Unicorns, Fluffy Kittens, Pink Elephants...nope, I just don't see it."
And the unofficial theme of the weekend..."I didn't come here to catch up on my reading."
Thursday, October 18, 2007
What I Meant to Say Was...
Some of you may have noticed that I pulled a post announcing our impending move away from Birmingham. This is for the simple reason that we could not bring ourselves to leave our family/friends/neighborhood/community -- basically everything that makes a place home. The new city was and is a great place to live, it just would never be THIS place with THESE people, and that's what mattered most in the end.
It was not an easy decision, and there are always trade-offs. But we are confident that our decision to stay is the right one for us and our boys. Thanks to all of you for being so great!
It was not an easy decision, and there are always trade-offs. But we are confident that our decision to stay is the right one for us and our boys. Thanks to all of you for being so great!
Monday, October 15, 2007
Not a stalker...just a creepy fan
So I ran into a super cool woman who writes a seriously fun blog (visit My Tiny Kingdom immediately) at the grocery store today. I had a really fun chat with her; however, she may or may not have been having a really fun chat with me. When you run into one of your virtual acquaintances in the real world, it can make for an awkward social moment. But it was probably my own paranoia, as she was just as cool in person as she appears to be in her blog. Sadly, I only realized after the fact that I'd forgotten to put on mascara this morning, so was not presenting the well-put-together front that I try so hard to cultivate. Also I had forgotten to make a list and was talking to myself in the aisles. Usually, I cart at least one kid along to make it look like I'm actually talking to them instead of exhibiting medication-worthy behavior. But When I'm looking good and acting sane, I never see anybody I know. So I guess looking like who dunnit and why is a small price to pay for a conversation with another grown up.
Anyway, I just so happened to be purchasing the fixings for two recipes that I gleaned from her site. She's a busy mom of three, and still manages to come up with really good home-cooked meals. She accomplishes this miraculous feat through planning ahead...something I admire in other people but can't seem to manage on my own. Not to worry, she's laid it all out a week at a time. Be sure to visit her site and leave a comment about how awesome and helpful her menus are so she'll be sure to keep doing it on a regular basis. Otherwise, it's back to McDonald's. By the way, if anyone has Boardwalk, I've got Park Place. Call me!
Anyway, I just so happened to be purchasing the fixings for two recipes that I gleaned from her site. She's a busy mom of three, and still manages to come up with really good home-cooked meals. She accomplishes this miraculous feat through planning ahead...something I admire in other people but can't seem to manage on my own. Not to worry, she's laid it all out a week at a time. Be sure to visit her site and leave a comment about how awesome and helpful her menus are so she'll be sure to keep doing it on a regular basis. Otherwise, it's back to McDonald's. By the way, if anyone has Boardwalk, I've got Park Place. Call me!
Monday, October 08, 2007
Something You MUST Do Today
Stop what you're doing, and proceed immediately to your nearest bookseller. Purchase Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen and then just try and convince me it's not the best read you've had in a great while.
If you do decide to follow my advice, click the link on the right and you can purchase from Amazon straight from my site. How cool am I?
If you do decide to follow my advice, click the link on the right and you can purchase from Amazon straight from my site. How cool am I?
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
No Rest for the Weary
Me (angry and fed up): You get back in that bed, and if you get up again, you're getting a spanking. No warnings...No counting to three. Now stay under those covers and I don't want to hear a peep!
Disembodied voice (emanating from deep beneath a pillow, a stuffed hippo and a blanket): Peep!
Disembodied voice (emanating from deep beneath a pillow, a stuffed hippo and a blanket): Peep!
Friday, September 28, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
It's Fun to Be One!!
The boys' Luau party was a real hoot. I think I sat down once for about 5 minutes during the entire party, but it seemed like everyone had ball. Several people offered congratulations on my organizational skills because everything seemed to come off without a hitch, but here's the skinny -- the air conditioning was broken from the night before until about 30 minutes before the party. We had to store the babies' cakes in the basement to keep the icing from melting off. ALSO, my dessert bombed and I had to order a last minute cake from Publix the day before the party. The order got lost resulting in the cake having to be hand-delivered about 45 minutes into the party. Sam and Tom turned out to be allergic to food coloring and had to be given Benedryl and put to bed shortly after the cake and presents portion of the proceedings. And my niece's child stripped completely naked and declared she was getting in the pool. But it was such a mad house with kids and grown-ups stacked like cord-wood that apparently no one noticed any of this stuff in the general chaos of the day. A sure sign of a successful party!!
Pictures and Stuff
O.k., so I'm just plain tired, tired, tired. But a lot of stuff has been going on, lately, and I'd love to share. So I think I'm going to cheat and just show a bunch of pictures. Nobody minds that, right?
At the end of August, I threw a baby shower for our best friends in the WORLD, Tamara and Phil. They are having their first child, Sophia Elysse, in December, and I wasn't about to miss out on a chance to throw a party for them. We had a couples shower at Tamara's mom's house in Decatur. We had a crowded house, but the food, beer and wine went the distance, and we all had a great time.
I can't figure out how to caption these !@#$% pictures, so the first one is obviously Tamara and Me. The second is Jason, Me, Tamara and Phil (who REALLY enjoyed the open bar and is pinching the devil out of the mama fat on the back of my arm -- note the fact that I managed to look serene until the shutter clicked -- then I clocked him one). Then comes the truly fabulous cake that I had patterned after the invitation. The only problem is the cake decorator didn't quite pull off the fact that the male figure is supposed to be slightly turned. Instead, it just makes it look like the guy has one leg shorter than the other. We referred to Phil as "The Gimp" for the duration of the party. I also can't figure out how to flip pictures, but I had to show you a full body of Tamara at almost 7 mos. preggers -- She had to wear this t-shirt that says "Pregnant (Not Fat)". Contrast that with the one of me at around 7 months with the trips. I considered a t-shirt that said, "Wide Load" but figured why restate the obvious.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Dust Bunnies and Large Members
Now there's a title that grabs attention if I ever made up one. The two do actually stem from a common theme, believe it or not. For the past week, I've been on strike. I've only scrubbed the toilets that actually had a ring. I've only dust mopped when the dog-hair-balls were literally starting to make me feel sick. And the closest I've come to cooking was defrosting frozen chicken fingers in the microwave.
What have I been doing instead, you ask (and for the sake of argument let's pretend you did)? RESEARCH!! Or at least that's what I'm going to call it. It has come to my attention that romance novel writers can actually make a living writing about love, romance, and (you knew it was just around the corner) LARGE MEMBERS!! So I have dedicated myself to reading a string of novels written very much in the style of Jane Austen -- only with some red-hot love scenes thrown in to appeal to those of us in the 21st century. This particular author's pen name is Julia Quinn, and she's a Harvard Graduate with feminist leanings. It almost makes the whole idea of becoming a romance novelist seem academic -- except for that whole "his throbbing manhood" issue.
Herein lies the problem. I just don't think I'm capable of writing the naughty bits. I blush while I'm reading them, and honestly cannot imagine how much worse it would be to actually write them myself, put my name on the cover and have to tell my mother, "Here's your baby girl's life's work." But the idea of being a published author is appealing. And a published author with a decent paycheck not only ices that cake but throws in a side of ice cream to boot. Still...telling my mother would be like serving it up on a bed of compost.
Oh well, it's all moot anyway. The blank screen facing me before each blog is daunting enough for right now. How on earth are you supposed to keep going for 300 pages? I'm going to have to start doing more interesting things just so I'll have stuff to talk about. For right now, all you have to look forward to are 1st birthday parties and our first school picture day -- both of which are happening next week. I'm really excited about it, and can't wait to share details once it's all over. I guess someone else will have to handle the naughty bits for at least a little while longer. I think I'll stay G-rated for the time being. It's less embarrassing for me AND my mother.
What have I been doing instead, you ask (and for the sake of argument let's pretend you did)? RESEARCH!! Or at least that's what I'm going to call it. It has come to my attention that romance novel writers can actually make a living writing about love, romance, and (you knew it was just around the corner) LARGE MEMBERS!! So I have dedicated myself to reading a string of novels written very much in the style of Jane Austen -- only with some red-hot love scenes thrown in to appeal to those of us in the 21st century. This particular author's pen name is Julia Quinn, and she's a Harvard Graduate with feminist leanings. It almost makes the whole idea of becoming a romance novelist seem academic -- except for that whole "his throbbing manhood" issue.
Herein lies the problem. I just don't think I'm capable of writing the naughty bits. I blush while I'm reading them, and honestly cannot imagine how much worse it would be to actually write them myself, put my name on the cover and have to tell my mother, "Here's your baby girl's life's work." But the idea of being a published author is appealing. And a published author with a decent paycheck not only ices that cake but throws in a side of ice cream to boot. Still...telling my mother would be like serving it up on a bed of compost.
Oh well, it's all moot anyway. The blank screen facing me before each blog is daunting enough for right now. How on earth are you supposed to keep going for 300 pages? I'm going to have to start doing more interesting things just so I'll have stuff to talk about. For right now, all you have to look forward to are 1st birthday parties and our first school picture day -- both of which are happening next week. I'm really excited about it, and can't wait to share details once it's all over. I guess someone else will have to handle the naughty bits for at least a little while longer. I think I'll stay G-rated for the time being. It's less embarrassing for me AND my mother.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Transformers, Scuba Divers and Fish
Upon noticing light leaking from underneath Jack's door, I entered his room to find him trying to place a three foot dragon into a 12 inch baby carriage. Wordlessly, I pointed toward his bed. "I'm just playing," he said. "I know," I replied, "but remember how tired you were yesterday and how many times you got put in time out? You didn't even get to visit very much with Aunt Tamara and Uncle Phil because you were in trouble most of the day. If you go to bed and get lots of sleep, then you'll feel good tomorrow and can play and have fun instead of being grouchy."
"I'm mad at them," said Jack. "At Aunt Tamara and Uncle Phil?" I asked, starting to get confused. "No...I mad at Transformers cause they scare me." Thinking we were getting to the heart of why his lights were on at 9 p.m., I began to talk about why there were no Transformers coming to get him, and that even if they did show up his Build-A-Bear Cheetah would do his scary roar and chase them away. "And Scuba Divers?" Jack asked. "Scuba Divers, too" I promised. "And fish, too" Jack added. "O.k." I said. "Fish, too."
Turns out Cheetah's roar didn't seem sufficient for all those foes, so Jason was drafted to come downstairs and tell all the Transformers, Scuba Divers and Fish who were thinking about scaring Jack to bugger off once and for all. With that accomplished, Jack curled up with his stuffed hippo and went to sleep.
As I readied myself for bed, I began to think of all the things that keep my eyes wide and staring as the night drags on...War, Politics, Random Acts of Violence and in general the vast uncertainty of the future stretching out before us. If anyone knows where I can find a stuffed animal with a roar big enough to take on these boogie men, please e-mail me ASAP.
"I'm mad at them," said Jack. "At Aunt Tamara and Uncle Phil?" I asked, starting to get confused. "No...I mad at Transformers cause they scare me." Thinking we were getting to the heart of why his lights were on at 9 p.m., I began to talk about why there were no Transformers coming to get him, and that even if they did show up his Build-A-Bear Cheetah would do his scary roar and chase them away. "And Scuba Divers?" Jack asked. "Scuba Divers, too" I promised. "And fish, too" Jack added. "O.k." I said. "Fish, too."
Turns out Cheetah's roar didn't seem sufficient for all those foes, so Jason was drafted to come downstairs and tell all the Transformers, Scuba Divers and Fish who were thinking about scaring Jack to bugger off once and for all. With that accomplished, Jack curled up with his stuffed hippo and went to sleep.
As I readied myself for bed, I began to think of all the things that keep my eyes wide and staring as the night drags on...War, Politics, Random Acts of Violence and in general the vast uncertainty of the future stretching out before us. If anyone knows where I can find a stuffed animal with a roar big enough to take on these boogie men, please e-mail me ASAP.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Fun Website for Invitations and Such
O.k., so I TRULY do not mean to be an advertising forum, but when I find something great, I just have to share. I just received the invitations for the boys' first birthday (less than a month away... Can you believe it?). Anyhow, if you have twins, triplets or more, I highly recommend Invitation Monkey for all your stationery needs. Carrye Campbell is based out of the Mobile, AL area and does all her own artwork. So you can personalize it any old way you like -- including making a birthday invitation with THREE monkeys instead of one. LOVE it!!! She does all kinds of stationery type items, and has great stuff even for all you wimps who have only had one kid at a time (amateurs!!).
That is all for now. You may resume normal activities.
That is all for now. You may resume normal activities.
Monday, August 13, 2007
And He Didn't Even Cry! (Much)
With four boys in the house, a lot of my stories end with "...and he didn't even cry!" Because my boys are sensitive and loving, yet tough when it counts. Today, Sam got to prove his mettle when we finally broke down and consulted a dermatologist about his diaper rash. Before you start sending me e-mails, yes we tried Desitin, Boudreaux's Butt Paste, and soaking in baking soda baths. Then we moved on to Custom Paste, Exelderm and one other prescription thing which resulted in three months of "I think it's going away!", followed closely by, "No wait -- I think it's coming back again." So today, when it seemed possible that it might bleed in spots (again), I pulled the plug and loaded him up for a trip to the dermatologist.
When we got there, we had to sit in the waiting room while a lot of well intentioned people asked way too many questions. I usually try to keep the whole triplet thing under wraps when I have them out one at a time, because frankly it just makes me way too interesting. And most of the time I'm so tired that staring at a badly painted wall for 15 minutes is like a little mini vacation. But one of the receptionists that knows Jason outed me right away, so I was fair game. Unfortunately, one of the ladies in the waiting room had three year old twins and was sure she knew exactly what I had been through. I managed not to ask how she enjoyed her four months on bedrest, but only by exerting a lot of self-control.
Once we got in to see the doctor, it all went very quickly. Unfortunately, a biopsy was needed just to be sure he didn't have some sort of flesh eating disease. Sam was a real trooper, and only cried a little when the numbing medicine was injected, and a little more when the stitch was put in. The Dr. was very impressed -- as well he should be. Sam already seems to be responding to the new medicine. So, all in all, mission accomplished. But this was definitely one of those situations where a mom wishes she could take the hit for her kid.
I'm only 2 and a half years into being a mom, and have already had numerous occasions where I wanted to "take one for the team." What's it going to be like the first time their team loses? The first time their heart gets broken? Or the first time they lose someone they love forever? How on earth am I supposed to sit by and watch that? I'm assuming there's an entire chapter devoted to this in the "New Mommy Handbook" that I somehow failed to pick up before leaving the hospital with my new baby. But until I find a second-hand copy somewhere, I guess I'm just going to have to keep winging it -- wincing and wishing I could make it better all the while.
When we got there, we had to sit in the waiting room while a lot of well intentioned people asked way too many questions. I usually try to keep the whole triplet thing under wraps when I have them out one at a time, because frankly it just makes me way too interesting. And most of the time I'm so tired that staring at a badly painted wall for 15 minutes is like a little mini vacation. But one of the receptionists that knows Jason outed me right away, so I was fair game. Unfortunately, one of the ladies in the waiting room had three year old twins and was sure she knew exactly what I had been through. I managed not to ask how she enjoyed her four months on bedrest, but only by exerting a lot of self-control.
Once we got in to see the doctor, it all went very quickly. Unfortunately, a biopsy was needed just to be sure he didn't have some sort of flesh eating disease. Sam was a real trooper, and only cried a little when the numbing medicine was injected, and a little more when the stitch was put in. The Dr. was very impressed -- as well he should be. Sam already seems to be responding to the new medicine. So, all in all, mission accomplished. But this was definitely one of those situations where a mom wishes she could take the hit for her kid.
I'm only 2 and a half years into being a mom, and have already had numerous occasions where I wanted to "take one for the team." What's it going to be like the first time their team loses? The first time their heart gets broken? Or the first time they lose someone they love forever? How on earth am I supposed to sit by and watch that? I'm assuming there's an entire chapter devoted to this in the "New Mommy Handbook" that I somehow failed to pick up before leaving the hospital with my new baby. But until I find a second-hand copy somewhere, I guess I'm just going to have to keep winging it -- wincing and wishing I could make it better all the while.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
This Just In
Attention everyone who has been wondering why there was no new info on this site. In case you do not live in Birmingham, it is HOT!!! Too hot to play, too hot to swim, too hot to think. We have at least another four days of 3-digit weather, so please try and make do without me at least until next week. My brain ceases all but the most vital functions (i.e. breathe, swallow, eat chocolate) once the mercury passes 100 degrees. Also, I am stuck inside entertaining four kids who are used to at least some outdoor time each day. This does not leave a lot of room for creative thought.
In the interim, feel free to entertain ME with your comments, e-mails, et cetera. Just because I'm melting into a pile of sticky goo, doesn't mean you have to be in the doldrums, right? Although I do appreciate the show of solidarity. See you next week!
In the interim, feel free to entertain ME with your comments, e-mails, et cetera. Just because I'm melting into a pile of sticky goo, doesn't mean you have to be in the doldrums, right? Although I do appreciate the show of solidarity. See you next week!
Monday, July 30, 2007
I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream 'Cause This Place Is Bedlam!
2:00 a.m. Woke up to three screaming children. Unsure of cause. Fed bottle. Went back to sleep
8:00 a.m. Have struggled with 1 jealous toddler, 2 fussy trips, and 1 wolverine (trip #3) for an hour. Made appointment for everyone to visit pediatrician at 3:00 p.m.
9:30 a.m. Toddler bites triplet ("I didn't mean to!" -- my butt). Triplet cries for 10 minutes. Bitten finger quite red. Remaining triplets take up wailing. Fed bottles, put down for nap. Toddler in indefinite time-out.
11:00 a.m. Everyone awake. Everyone gets lunch. Naps all around by Noon.
12:05 p.m. No one is napping.
1:00 p.m. Toddler and wolverine napping. Thing one and thing two must be held constantly or wailing ensues.
2:30 p.m. The wolverine awakens just in time for the Dr. appointment. Decide to only take Thing 1 (who is actively pulling on ear), leaving Thing 2 and Toddler with the nanny.
3:00 p.m. Arrive at Pediatrician.
3:30 p.m. Get in room
3:30 - 4:00 p.m. Experience purgatory as wolverine loses his mind and determines to take Thing one and Me with him.
4:00 p.m. Dr. diagnoses double ear infections in both. I assure him Thing 2 needs the same medicine, as he has insisted on being held all day and cried very easily (at least when bitten). Dr. concedes as I'm looking a bit rough around the edges and am not to be trifled with.
5:00 p.m. Return home with sleeping children.
5:05 p.m. Accidentally wake them both while disentangling them from car seat.
5:30 p.m. Feed them healthy dinner of Captain D's fish and cheerios.
6:00 p.m. Administer antibiotics, pain medicine and narcotic cough syrup. Bottles and bedtime follow.
7:00 p.m. Consider drinking heavily. Decide head hurts too bad already.
7:05 p.m. Finish remaining dregs of Ben and Jerry's "Cherry Garcia". Do dishes. Tidy up (minimally). Get attacked by scary monster (In spooky voice, "I comin' a get you, mommy). Attack suddenly morphs into big hug and spontaneous, "I WUV you, mommy. I not scary." Settle in to stare at television with husband and toddler.
8:00 p.m. Ask toddler to consider bed-time. "Not yet, mommy. Not today." Continue to encourage toddler to feel sleepy for next half hour.
8:30 p.m. Begin bed-time ritual in earnest. "I bwush my teef. Don' touch me!" "I go potty. NO! Pwease don' touch me, Mommy!" Read Goodnight Moon twice. Let toddler read it to me once. Make shadow puppets with his Shrek flashlight. Talk about the day. Sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" three times with complete hand gestures. Finally, leave him in his room...possibly about to go to sleep. Possibly about to get up and play with his trains as soon as I'm out of earshot.
9:15 Here, sharing with you all he pleasures of raising 4 little boys. Some say, "I'm so glad it's you, not me." Even on days like this, I'm glad it's me, too.
9:45 Thing 1's coughing fit, scares Thing 2 who cries hysterically. Wolverine sleeps on. Toddler singing to himself. Mommy calls it a day.
8:00 a.m. Have struggled with 1 jealous toddler, 2 fussy trips, and 1 wolverine (trip #3) for an hour. Made appointment for everyone to visit pediatrician at 3:00 p.m.
9:30 a.m. Toddler bites triplet ("I didn't mean to!" -- my butt). Triplet cries for 10 minutes. Bitten finger quite red. Remaining triplets take up wailing. Fed bottles, put down for nap. Toddler in indefinite time-out.
11:00 a.m. Everyone awake. Everyone gets lunch. Naps all around by Noon.
12:05 p.m. No one is napping.
1:00 p.m. Toddler and wolverine napping. Thing one and thing two must be held constantly or wailing ensues.
2:30 p.m. The wolverine awakens just in time for the Dr. appointment. Decide to only take Thing 1 (who is actively pulling on ear), leaving Thing 2 and Toddler with the nanny.
3:00 p.m. Arrive at Pediatrician.
3:30 p.m. Get in room
3:30 - 4:00 p.m. Experience purgatory as wolverine loses his mind and determines to take Thing one and Me with him.
4:00 p.m. Dr. diagnoses double ear infections in both. I assure him Thing 2 needs the same medicine, as he has insisted on being held all day and cried very easily (at least when bitten). Dr. concedes as I'm looking a bit rough around the edges and am not to be trifled with.
5:00 p.m. Return home with sleeping children.
5:05 p.m. Accidentally wake them both while disentangling them from car seat.
5:30 p.m. Feed them healthy dinner of Captain D's fish and cheerios.
6:00 p.m. Administer antibiotics, pain medicine and narcotic cough syrup. Bottles and bedtime follow.
7:00 p.m. Consider drinking heavily. Decide head hurts too bad already.
7:05 p.m. Finish remaining dregs of Ben and Jerry's "Cherry Garcia". Do dishes. Tidy up (minimally). Get attacked by scary monster (In spooky voice, "I comin' a get you, mommy). Attack suddenly morphs into big hug and spontaneous, "I WUV you, mommy. I not scary." Settle in to stare at television with husband and toddler.
8:00 p.m. Ask toddler to consider bed-time. "Not yet, mommy. Not today." Continue to encourage toddler to feel sleepy for next half hour.
8:30 p.m. Begin bed-time ritual in earnest. "I bwush my teef. Don' touch me!" "I go potty. NO! Pwease don' touch me, Mommy!" Read Goodnight Moon twice. Let toddler read it to me once. Make shadow puppets with his Shrek flashlight. Talk about the day. Sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" three times with complete hand gestures. Finally, leave him in his room...possibly about to go to sleep. Possibly about to get up and play with his trains as soon as I'm out of earshot.
9:15 Here, sharing with you all he pleasures of raising 4 little boys. Some say, "I'm so glad it's you, not me." Even on days like this, I'm glad it's me, too.
9:45 Thing 1's coughing fit, scares Thing 2 who cries hysterically. Wolverine sleeps on. Toddler singing to himself. Mommy calls it a day.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
All the Gory Details -- One Last Tidbit
One thing I forgot to mention...When you're going through infertility as a couple, you get a lot of well-meaning but otherwise stupid advice. Things like "Relax, it'll happen when you least expect it." *No, actually, it never did* And my personal favorite, "You know you'll get pregnant the minute you start the adoption process." *As a matter of fact, no I did not*
But perhaps the most disconcerting thing is the general need people have to lay blame at the door of one partner or another...as if they'll be able to fix everything for you if they just know which one has the problem. In point of fact, infertility issues lie exclusively at the woman's door 25% of the time, at the man's 25% and the other 50%of the time it's a combination of both people having trouble with one thing or another.
In our particular case, it was me, me, all about me. I simply never ovulated on my own, or when I did the eggs were "immature" -- meaning not capable of sustaining a viable pregnancy. I was always very up front about this, particularly with friends and family (one of whom responded, "Oh! So it's your fault." If you're ever in a similar situation, DO NOT say anything remotely as insensitive). For the oddball acquaintance who asked such an impertinent question, I just perfected a withering stare and left them to wonder.
What I didn't realize until much later is that my sweet husband, because he loves me and wanted to at least deflect some of the heat, told everyone that would listen that half the "blame" could be laid at his doorstep. He even had my best friend convinced. I don't know if anyone who hasn't been in this situation can appreciate how much that meant to me at the time, and even now so long after the fact. But trust me, he could be a real jerk for a LOT of years before he burns up all the credit he has with me.
But perhaps the most disconcerting thing is the general need people have to lay blame at the door of one partner or another...as if they'll be able to fix everything for you if they just know which one has the problem. In point of fact, infertility issues lie exclusively at the woman's door 25% of the time, at the man's 25% and the other 50%of the time it's a combination of both people having trouble with one thing or another.
In our particular case, it was me, me, all about me. I simply never ovulated on my own, or when I did the eggs were "immature" -- meaning not capable of sustaining a viable pregnancy. I was always very up front about this, particularly with friends and family (one of whom responded, "Oh! So it's your fault." If you're ever in a similar situation, DO NOT say anything remotely as insensitive). For the oddball acquaintance who asked such an impertinent question, I just perfected a withering stare and left them to wonder.
What I didn't realize until much later is that my sweet husband, because he loves me and wanted to at least deflect some of the heat, told everyone that would listen that half the "blame" could be laid at his doorstep. He even had my best friend convinced. I don't know if anyone who hasn't been in this situation can appreciate how much that meant to me at the time, and even now so long after the fact. But trust me, he could be a real jerk for a LOT of years before he burns up all the credit he has with me.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
All the Gory Details
Today, children, we will be discussing how I got all these children...children who have left me with unsightly stretch marks, a permanent "is she pregnant or not?" belly, and who are leaching brain cells from me with every passing day. All this craziness might make you wonder if I regret all we've been through, and the answer is a resounding NO!!! I'd do it all again in a heartbeat!!! I'm posting all the gory details for those of you who visit this site hoping to find out more about what to expect on your own paths to infertility treatment, and have (up to this point at least) received a big, fat eyeful of nothing. Those of you who don't have infertility issues need not read beyond this point. O.k. and those of you still reading out of morbid curiosity...GOTCHA!
For those of you who don't know us personally, my #1 sweetie and I met in high school and married just after I turned 20. We had lots of stuff we wanted to accomplish together and individually, and really did not reach a place where we thought children would be welcome addition for about 7 years. I was still relatively young, and we didn't anticipate any problems. Do we ever? We began trying, and when it didn't happen in the first few months, I started taking my temperature and tracking my cycle. I could tell something wasn't quite right, as the signs for ovulation were murky, at best. We soldiered on, and just before the one-year mark, found out we were pregnant. We were elated! Unfortunately, four days later, we miscarried. Just saying, "it was a difficult time" is really insufficient to describe that kind of hurt and the fear it brings with it. This was the first time I thought, "This might not happen for us."
After that, I marched straight into my OB's office and demanded an infertility consult. There were a lot of empty words thrown at me "still young, only one year, relax and be patient." I rejected them all, waving my little cycle tracking cards wildly. Finally they conceded that I might know what I was talking about, and we began clomid.
For those of you unsure of what clomid is, I like to call it the P-pill. P stands for period, pregnant, and pre-menopausal because you get to experience all the symptoms of all three states AT THE EXACT SAME TIME!!! For those of you who have not experienced them, hot flashes are a real bitch. Anyway, clomid works on the part of your brain that affects hormone production. It's supposed to make your brain produce more of the hormones that make you ovulate. In order to regulate my cycles, they had to keep upping the doses higher and higher, until I was on just over 5 times the start dose. For those of you about to start clomid, this may not be the case for you. Most people just take a low dose and it works great. The symptoms are also GREATLY reduced at lower doses.
For a while, they just patted me on the back and told me how great things were going. I disagreed, mainly because I still wasn't PREGNANT, and insisted on additional testing. Lo and behold, the clomid was indeed not working, and we moved on to injectibles.
Injectibles are different from clomid in that they act directly on the ovaries. They're supposed to make you produce a lot of eggs so you increase your chances of getting pregnant. They don't have the side-effects that clomid does, but the fact that I was injecting myself in the stomach each night for almost two weeks sort of served as it's own special drawback. We also started intra-uterine insemination -- the reasoning being that the injectibles were really expensive and difficult, so let's give it the best chance possible by cutting out the middle man (sorry about that, honey).
It's too late to make a long story short, but our first round of injectibles didn't work. I then took some time off to just get back to feeling normal, then resumed the process with an exploratory laproscopic procedure just to make sure everything was hunky dory in there. After that, one more round of injectibles (at double the previous dose) resulted in the ever fabulous Jack.
When Jack was almost a year old, we decided to try again. We did one round of exactly the same meds as before, and BOOM this time we got triplets. Go figure.
So that's our experience in a nutshell. We didn't do IVF, although there is a link to an IVF website to the right of this post. It's there because that's where I found a great system of support while carrying multiples. It's pretty easy to find other mothers carrying twins, but once you up the ante by one measly baby it gets a little more difficult to find someone in your same situation. LOVE, love, love the internet.
Anyone about to enter this maelstrom, please feel free to contact me. Obviously, I'm a guarded and secretive person, but I'll make an exception and share even more details if you need them.
For those of you who don't know us personally, my #1 sweetie and I met in high school and married just after I turned 20. We had lots of stuff we wanted to accomplish together and individually, and really did not reach a place where we thought children would be welcome addition for about 7 years. I was still relatively young, and we didn't anticipate any problems. Do we ever? We began trying, and when it didn't happen in the first few months, I started taking my temperature and tracking my cycle. I could tell something wasn't quite right, as the signs for ovulation were murky, at best. We soldiered on, and just before the one-year mark, found out we were pregnant. We were elated! Unfortunately, four days later, we miscarried. Just saying, "it was a difficult time" is really insufficient to describe that kind of hurt and the fear it brings with it. This was the first time I thought, "This might not happen for us."
After that, I marched straight into my OB's office and demanded an infertility consult. There were a lot of empty words thrown at me "still young, only one year, relax and be patient." I rejected them all, waving my little cycle tracking cards wildly. Finally they conceded that I might know what I was talking about, and we began clomid.
For those of you unsure of what clomid is, I like to call it the P-pill. P stands for period, pregnant, and pre-menopausal because you get to experience all the symptoms of all three states AT THE EXACT SAME TIME!!! For those of you who have not experienced them, hot flashes are a real bitch. Anyway, clomid works on the part of your brain that affects hormone production. It's supposed to make your brain produce more of the hormones that make you ovulate. In order to regulate my cycles, they had to keep upping the doses higher and higher, until I was on just over 5 times the start dose. For those of you about to start clomid, this may not be the case for you. Most people just take a low dose and it works great. The symptoms are also GREATLY reduced at lower doses.
For a while, they just patted me on the back and told me how great things were going. I disagreed, mainly because I still wasn't PREGNANT, and insisted on additional testing. Lo and behold, the clomid was indeed not working, and we moved on to injectibles.
Injectibles are different from clomid in that they act directly on the ovaries. They're supposed to make you produce a lot of eggs so you increase your chances of getting pregnant. They don't have the side-effects that clomid does, but the fact that I was injecting myself in the stomach each night for almost two weeks sort of served as it's own special drawback. We also started intra-uterine insemination -- the reasoning being that the injectibles were really expensive and difficult, so let's give it the best chance possible by cutting out the middle man (sorry about that, honey).
It's too late to make a long story short, but our first round of injectibles didn't work. I then took some time off to just get back to feeling normal, then resumed the process with an exploratory laproscopic procedure just to make sure everything was hunky dory in there. After that, one more round of injectibles (at double the previous dose) resulted in the ever fabulous Jack.
When Jack was almost a year old, we decided to try again. We did one round of exactly the same meds as before, and BOOM this time we got triplets. Go figure.
So that's our experience in a nutshell. We didn't do IVF, although there is a link to an IVF website to the right of this post. It's there because that's where I found a great system of support while carrying multiples. It's pretty easy to find other mothers carrying twins, but once you up the ante by one measly baby it gets a little more difficult to find someone in your same situation. LOVE, love, love the internet.
Anyone about to enter this maelstrom, please feel free to contact me. Obviously, I'm a guarded and secretive person, but I'll make an exception and share even more details if you need them.
Monday, July 23, 2007
How Bad Can It Be?
So...today I was so tired that I really might have cried a few times if I could have found the time. Instead, I was just snarky and incredibly difficult to be around. It all got better, though, after we decided to let all four boys bathe at the same time. It's hard to be grouchy during a splash fight. I snapped this picture of Jack and Sam having a major giggle fest as they try to out-splash each other while Will and Tom gaze adoringly at their own reflections (who wouldn't?). It even made later events (including, but not limited to finger painting mom's bedsheets with poop) a little easier to handle.
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